


Jeeves Takes Charge -or- After the Revenge of the Prosser Gang

by godsdaisiechain (preux)



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Competent!Bertie, Hair, Illnesses, M/M, Tea, precious bunnykins, specific dream rabbit, woolly baa lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/godsdaisiechain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the 'School' challenge on fan_flashworks and the Fluff meme prompt 'Bertie is ill and Jeeves helps him wash his hair.'</p><p>Summary: After a series of mishaps, Bertie and Jeeves both fall ill and need nursing.  Then, conflict breaks out and Bertie enrolls in a school for the rich.  Will they ever mend their differences?</p><p>Warnings: Jeeves beats a hasty retreat. Someone uses the term "precious bunnykins."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves Takes Charge -or- After the Revenge of the Prosser Gang

At long last, the young master was tucked into the bed with hot water bottles and an extra duvet. “Thank-you, Jeeves.”

“Will that be all, sir?” My valet’s blue eyes held a question that had hovered in the air for days and Bertram suddenly quivered. Jeeves floated closer to the bed. “Are you chilled, sir?”

 

This little domestic scene had tripped along like a bothersome lamb after a few days of the ripest mischief.  Said m. was precipitated by a cheerful little supper got up to celebrate the forthcoming nuptials of Binkie Foster-Fotheringay, who had been reunited with his lady love after a rift during which she had become engaged to Bertram, Boko Fittlesworth, and Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps. For his part, Binkie had, under the influence of two quarts of champagne, proposed to my Aunt Agatha.  He insists to this day that she is a very handsome woman for her age.  The willowy form still recoils at such a revolting thought, but it is not for Wooster to dictate the opinions of his friends.  Some blokes like certain whatsits and beauty is in the e. of the thingummy and all that.

The wines and spirits had flowed quite freely at said cheerful l. s. so the progression of events remains blurred.  Yet it came to pass in the city of London that Bertram was thoroughly immersed in the fountain in Trafalgar Square. Strange forces, in the shape of Oofy Prosser forgetting himself and laying out one of London’s finest, converged to prevent the incarceration of Bertram, who was left stunned and sodden behind a newsstand for some hours.  I recovered self, squelched home and woke with a raging head and flaming throat and planned to hole up for the nonce

The fates decreed otherwise.  Oofy had promised to take his small nephews to tea and, as the only one involved in the binge who avoided chokey, I had been volunteered as a stand-in for the incarcerated millionaire.  Not being one to let a friend down, I downed one of Jeeves’s preparations and toddled off to chaperone the three active young fry through tea.  They are horribly lively lads, the young Prossers, quite unlike the more staid Oofy, and were expelled from the Harrods tea shoppe and then Fornam and Mason’s then gave their host quite an unpleasant chase in the park before their tutor came to biff them in the sides of the heads and return them to their abode. Bertram staggered home after this binge, aching in every joint and racked with chills. Bits of candy had been stuck about the person. The limbs quivered like jellies and gave up the struggle in the vicinity of Jarvis, the faithful doorman, who arranged the young lodger of 3A in an artistic heap and sallied forth to summon Jeeves.

The rosy dusk had just begun to tint the skies a fruity shade of pink when the two reappeared. Jeeves looked perfect as usual and I found myself wondering for the first time when, if ever, he dressed or bathed. What did he look like under that staid and sturdy raiment? Did he ever resent the young master’s wealth and ease? Unsettling musings, those. Likely an effect of fever. Jeeves gave the young master the sort of look one gave to a charmingly wayward child and then, with Jarvis’s help, ratcheted the willowy dampness from the carpet and steered me up to the abode.

“An exciting afternoon, sir?”

Wooster sneezed and the teeth chattered.

Jeeves propelled the wobbling pins toward the bathroom and deposited me on the small bench. “I’ll draw you a hot bath, sir.”  He activated the taps and, seeing that Wooster B was shaking too violently to undress, gently divested self of the raiment. He kindly wrapped a towel modestly around the slender waist, helped me into the tub, then shimmered out with the sticky, candy-spotted clothes, to float back in with a hot toddy.

I’d warmed up enough to be able to down the thing and felt some relief, but the throat felt as if a series of fire walkers were traipsing about bent on mayhem while the old onion throbbed violently. I collapsed back in the tub, the bean resting uncomfortably on a bit of candy. The sore spot on the back of the old coconut ached fiercely.

“The little devils stuck candy in my hair, Jeeves. Will we have to cut it out?”

Jeeves looked very much like a man torn between the desire to burst out laughing and the urge to wrap a beloved object in a tender embrace.  Another effect of the fever, no doubt. “No, sir. If you will permit me, I believe that with some unguents and hot water we can work the offending articles loose.”

“And can you salvage my suit?  I rather like it, even if it only has a quiet twill.”

“Of course, sir.”

The scene oozed in and out of focus as Jeeves worked over the aching lemon.  He moistened the offending clumps, applied oil and combed gently while the young master lolled in the soothing hot bath. He had worked out the most prominent lumps before a moan escaped the Wooster lips.  “Sir? Have I hurt you?  I was endeavoring not to cause you any discomfort.”

This was a new sentiment, I thought, and had I been feeling better, I would have responded with a hollow laugh. “My head aches, Jeeves,” I whispered, for the throat was in absolute torment.

He shimmered out and returned with another hot beverage and some aspirins.  “I took the liberty of phoning a physician, sir.”

The willowy corpus nearly convulsed. “Please get the bally candy out of my hair, Jeeves.  The smell is revolting.”

“Very good, sir.  Are you able to lean forward?” I did my best, and nearly sprawled face-first into the tub.  Jeeves somehow managed to get an arm around the front of the corpus and held me up while I shook and coughed and sputtered.  I felt him set down his comb, and then he rested a hand on my back.  He rubbed a soothing circle on the bare skin and made a sort of crooning noise while I caught my breath, then he froze.  I could almost hear the vast Jeevesian battalions of grey cells charging about, as he eased me into a position where he could get at the other side of the golden head.

“Thank-you, Jeeves,” I said, as he wadded towels around me to hold me up.  In a few more minutes he was largely done, but the smell of sweets persisted. “Can’t you get rid of that bally smell?”

“Perhaps a shampoo, sir?”

“Thank-you, Jeeves.” I rested back against a towel and let the e.s flutter and close as his skillful fingers massaged the scalp, being extra gentle with the huge bump that had been raised in the ruckus the preceding evening. I stirred when he rinsed the suds from the no-longer-gooey locks, and started the drain the tub.  He held me up firmly as he applied my toweling robe, which was toasty warm, and dried the hair with piping hot towels.

“Let me settle you into the bed, sir.  The doctor will be here at any moment.”

“Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir?”

“See you get dried off.  I don’t want you falling ill as well, what?”

“Of course, sir.”

 

The next few days passed in a hazy and unsettling sort of way.  Faces floated around from time to time, generally Jeeves, but it seemed that Aunt Dahlia made at least one cameo and I could have sworn Aunt Maude was a regular player.  I woke at about my usual time one morning, still dazed from the succession of bromides and feeling like I had been swallowing cactuses whole, to find a motherly-looking woman in my side chair, knitting.

“Morning, duckling,” she said, reaching a knobbly hand toward me. Something about the swollen joints awoke a sort of suppressed horror in Bertram, and then a dark-looking cove clomped into the room holding my suit, now devoid of candy, and it was all too much. It was the work of an instant to flatten self against the wall in terror, pressing the bell and calling for Jeeves. How Bertram cursed the day he had seen that movie where the cove turns into the other cove before running rampant about the place doing evil works.

“Mr. Jeeves has been taken ill, duckling,” said the woman in a kind voice

“Oh dearie me,” said the cove. “I’m off.”

Bertram boggled. “Jeeves?  Ill?  Where is he?”

“Don’t you worry your head,” said the crone. “He is in his rooms.”

A sort of croaking sound arrested the attention. “Sir?”  It was Jeeves, bedecked in his brown dressing gown and carpet slippers, grey of countenance and clutching the doorjamb for support. Betram collapsed onto the bed in relief.

“Ah, Mr. Jeeves,” said the c. looking at him fondly. “Mr. Wooster is quite all right. Let me help you back to your room.” She pushed herself up and they left. It was the work of several minutes to ooze into the dressing gown and slippers and follow, the replacement valet grumbling in my wake.

The Jeevesian lair seemed grim and unwelcoming. A foul smell, like burnt feathers, pervaded the place, emanating from some mishap in the kitchen, which was issuing billows of grey smoke.

“No, no.” I said.  Everyone froze. “No. Bally well, no. Mrs. Whatsit, bring Jeeves to the guest room and set him up there with everything he needs.  Thingummy,” I turned to the valet.

“Sir,” croaked Jeeves.

“Robbins,” said Thingummy.

“Robbins,” I said. “Get rid of that burning smell.”

“Yes, sir.  Damned pajamas in the oven,” he muttered darkly as he left.

“Sir,” croaked Jeeves.

“No, Jeeves. No.”  I drew self up as well as possible on the wobbling pins. “I cannot do without you.  Mrs. Whatsit.”

“Wilson,” croaked Jeeves. “I will follow.” He gave a meaningful look and she lumbered out

“Robbins, would you also make some tea?” Robbins clumped off muttering darkly.  Bally distressing with a throbbing bean.

“Sir, I thank you,” Jeeves whispered. “But I beg you. Please do not allow him unfettered access to my things.”  We staggered out, leaning on the walls, and Jeeves locked up and slipped me the key.

“Ah.” Robbins stumbled in, spilling tea all over the saucer and my buttered toast. I gave him a couple of pounds and the rest of the day off and told him he needn’t come back as I would not be going out for some days.  Mrs. Wilson clucked at me approvingly.

“Mrs. Wilson, can you make me some tea and toast?”

“Of course, duckling,” she said, patting my arm fondly.  “Mrs. Wilberforce thinks the world of you and Mr. Jeeves.  My niece is friendly with her niece, the one that married Mr. Jeeves’s friend."

“Oh, ah,” I said.  Mrs. Wilson knitted and chatted to me for the rest of the afternoon, leaving at intervals to look in on Jeeves.  She fed me tea and soup and toast and told me tale after tale of Mr. Jeeves. I found I liked the Jeeves she knew.  He seemed an ok sort of bloke, always ready to help a pal, devoted to uniting true hearts. I drifted off and toward evening she came in with some nice-looking chicken and some delicate sweet cakes and a hot toddy.  She watched me eat and waited while I attended to myself, and then tucked me in with a mystery novel.

“I’m off soon, duckling, and will come back tomorrow, unless you want me to stay? Your aspirins and your brandy and your carafe are all right here where you can reach them. Mr. Jeeves is sleeping, but he took some broth. You needn’t worry your head about him. He’s well used to looking after himself."

I felt so much better that I wrapped self in a dressing gown and ankled in to see for myself how Jeeves was carrying on.

“Sir,” he whispered, looking like he was about to rise.  His side table was more sparsely equipped than my own.

“No, Jeeves.”  I collapsed into the side chair. “Do you want some chicken? Mrs. Whatsit bunged up a lovely bite.”

“Sir, this is all most irregular,” he almost whimpered.

“I cannot do without you, Jeeves.  And you cannot get well breathing in billowing smoke.”

"Sir…” The eyes met and I saw something there that he’d desperately wanted to keep hidden. And I realized that he likely saw something that I’d wanted to keep hidden as well. How mortifying.  Blast all hard candies!

The most blessed Mrs. Wilson galumphed about the place like a bally healing whatsit over the next few days.  She was a jolly good cook and a pleasant enough soul until she started asking why neither of us were married.  Wooster had a miraculous recovery within hours.

 

On the day Mrs. Wilson left us, Jeeves shimmered about looking limper than usual. “Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Leave all that.  I can’t have you becoming ill again.”

“It is no trouble, sir.”

“Then it is no trouble to leave it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you bung me up a nice lemony healing beverage?  I’d like to retire and I’d like you to do the same.”

“Yes, sir."

At long last, the young master was tucked into the bed with hot water bottles and an extra duvet. “Thank-you, Jeeves.” It was such a relief and comfort to have him on the case again.

“Will that be all, sir?” My valet’s blue eyes held a question that had hovered in the air for days and Bertram suddenly quivered. Jeeves floated closer to the bed. “Are you chilled, sir?”

“No, Jeeves.  Jeeves?”

“Sir?”

“Thank-you for comforting me when I was so ill.”

Had I not seen that look in his eye while we were both so ill, his face would have revealed nothing. “It was no trouble sir.”

“What was it, then, Jeeves?”

I had him well and caught and he knew it. Unlike the intrepid Woosters, the Jeeveses understood the tactical retreat.  “Sir,” he said finally. “I believe we should part for a time.  My feelings… I believe it would be best.”

The willowy corpus revolted. “No, Jeeves. No. I can’t do without you.  I won’t.”

“Sir, please.”

“No, Jeeves.  My feelings in every way forbid it.” He stopped, stunned.  Perhaps he had not seen what I thought he must have.  “In every way, Jeeves. You mustn’t leave me.” He tottered a bit and caught the back of a chair. “Sit, then, Jeeves, if you feel wobbly.”

He shimmered out, showing the white of the eye in the most touching way.  It was the work of a moment to tangle myself in the bedclothes and tumble in a heap on the floor, bumping the head mercilessly on the end table. Jeeves was back at my side in an instant, helping me up. “I saw you, Jeeves.  It’s… please don’t go.”

“I don’t believe you understand, sir.”

“What, Jeeves?  What do I not understand?”

“Sir, I am fond of you, but I cannot allow… it simply must not be.”

“But why, Jeeves?” Various emotions played across his handsome face.  I’d never seen so much expression on his dial.

“Because I am afraid, sir. I am afraid. I saw what happened to those others and… I am afraid.”  His dislike for my fruitier items of clothing seemed clearer

I had him by the arm as we spoke, and I pulled him closer. “I will protect you, Jeeves.”

“But sir…”

“I will protect you.”

He finally eased himself down beside me on the bed.  “I am afraid,” he said again.  And he had cause to be.  You see, I had caught him at something he ought not to have been doing, besides burning up my mauve pajamas, which is what caused all the smoke.  It was mean of me, but sometimes when men of iron will share a home, subterfuge must be used.

“I went through your room, Jeeves.” He went white. “I found the pictures.  I found the letters.  I found everything.  It seemed so odd to me, you see, that you would soothe me that tender way.”

His head bowed. “Sir, I apologize. It was not my place.”

Then, for the first time, I understood how he must feel when he gives me the wayward child look. “Jeeves, you seem to have had an interest in the young master for quite some time.”  He hunched over miserably and I slipped the arms about him. “You purloined my thank-you letters to old Percy Craye?  You took the ripped off bit of my picture from his waste paper basket?”

“Please, sir.”

“I’ll stop teasing you if you promise to do your best to stay, Jeeves.  I cannot do without you.  Honestly.”  I gave his corpus a squeeze. “And I return these feelings, Jeeves.”  He stiffened. “I thought you knew.”

“No, sir.”

“Yes, Jeeves.”

“Will that be all, sir?”

“I don’t know, Jeeves. Will it?”

 

He drugged my evening toddy and the next morning, he’d disappeared, leaving all of his mementos of me on my night table wrapped in a pink tie. He would have gone without a trace if he’d not hitched himself to the Rowcester wagon. Good old Billy-o was on the phone to ask my permission before engaging him, of course. I called up Mrs. Wilson and signed up for that bally school and left word at the Junior Ganymede club.  If I couldn’t have Jeeves, I didn’t want any other dashed valet, blast it.

Woosters are men of action, not words, and without much understanding how it happened myself, I became quite skilled at caring for myself. In fact, Bertram was all set to graduate with honors, but that would never do. How could I get Jeeves to come back unless I was useless without him?  He doesn’t like serving overly intelligent masters, and the old heart was broken without him hovering about the place. Thank goodness Mrs. Wilson helped me find that old woman in the village who needed a few quid. Thank goodness that Biggars fellow, old friend of my grandfather’s, took Jeeves aside for a heart-to-heart on the value of good friends.  Thank goodness Jeeves missed me just as much as I missed him.

When he arrived at home, I was splashing about in the bath.  He hove in when I called and washed the golden locks. Then he joined me and let me wash his dark hair.  We settled on the bed wrapped up in toweling robes for a wonderful session of pashing in front of the fire, then, when we felt suddenly shy, we bunged together a slap-up meal.  We curled up in front of the fire in the sitting room and he let me feed him bits with my fingers, which always seemed terribly romantic to young Wooster.

“Welcome back, Jeeves.”

“Thank-you for writing, sir.  I could not have brought myself to ask your forgiveness after fleeing in that craven way.”

I gathered him close. “No, no, Jeeves.  I am sorry I frightened you. I should have left some evidence about for you to find and let you take charge of matters as you like. It was petty of me and I apologize.  I was pipped about my mauve pajamas—I found their charred remains in the kitchen when Thingummy left—and wanted to show you who was boss. It was a mean thing to do.”

The Jeevesian jaw flapped a bit. “You… let me?”

“Jeeves, do you honestly think I did not know who you were? Old Mr. Craye nearly popped his cork when you left, he was that upset. And could you believe that I’d never noticed a topping specimen such as yourself when I visited? That the agency never divulged your cognomen or coughed up your references? Do you think I’d have donned that incredibly sprightly checked suit with a morning head for no reason on your first day?”

A sort of smoldering, worshipful look kindled itself in his eyes. No one had ever looked at me that way before and I found it immensely pleasing. “You excite my deepest passions, sir. You are the most desirable man I have ever encountered.”

Bertram smiled. “Only because you cannot encounter yourself, Jeeves. Would you like to go back to the bedroom and pash some more in front of the fire?”

He quivered. “I’d like to do more than pash, sir.”

We pressed the foreheads together. “Good. Let’s knock off with the ‘sir’ while we’re at this, though. Would you like to take charge?”

“Thank-you. That is most generous of you to consider.” This all looks a bit overformal on paper, but the twinkling eyes and bright smile more than made up for it.

“You are the most specific dream rabbit.” He cupped the back of the head and we rubbed noses.

“Thank-you very much.  Might I,” he swallowed. “Might I take the liberty of calling you a wooly baa-lamb?”

I never thought I would find such soppiness endearing, but I did.  I understood, though, that it would not do to let Jeeves get too far ahead of himself. I kissed him, though, to take the sting out of it. “No, please.”  We kissed some more and looked deep into each other’s eyes and suddenly I saw that he was quite right about baa-lambs, wooly and otherwise. “Err… not quite yet, that is, I mean.”

He smiled warmly, shaking in every limb. “Then I echo your sentiments about dream rabbits.” I thanked him. And Jeeves took charge of the proceedings. I never thought Wooster B would be happy to be called a ‘precious bunnykins’ but then Jeeves is a marvel.


End file.
